


Drippin' Like Honeycomb

by Northisnotup



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: First Time, Fuck Or Die, Gender Identity, Gender or Sex Swap, How robots experience gender, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Relationship(s), Kinda, Kink Exploration, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Sexual Frustration, Slight sexual coersion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northisnotup/pseuds/Northisnotup
Summary: “I can save it!” The suspect urges, rocking forward on the balls of her feet.Hank’s aim never wavers.She stays where she is.“I’m...it’s cold, Hank.” Connor whispers. “I don’t want to die.”





	Drippin' Like Honeycomb

Years of experience keeps his gun steady, even as Hank blinks back tears from the flash of the gun muzzle and his ears ring with the echo of the blast. 

“Oh fuck!” Their suspect drops the gun as Connor also drops. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!” 

“Connor!” Hank keeps his gun and one eye on the suspect as he drops to one knee, checking Connor’s wound. 

He’s leaking thirium, blue blood soaking his shirt from where the bullet entered his throat at an odd angle, exiting through the back of his head. LED cycling, yellow-red-yellow.

“I-I can save it.” 

His mouth moves soundlessly.

“Shut up! Connor, can you still hear me?” 

Slow blinking, he stares into nothing. 

“I can save it!” She urges, rocking forward on the balls of her feet. 

Hank’s aim never wavers.

She stays where she is. 

“I’m...scared. Hank.” Connor whispers. “I don’t want to die.”

“Fucking, let me help!”

LED pulsing red-red-red.

“Do it.” 

Androids going missing and a black market of parts and upgrades starting, linking back to this neighborhood. Evelyn Monk used to work at Cyberlife. They’d just wanted to question her. 

“I only have a few models available, but I should be able to transfer it’s consciousness before any damage is done.” Evelyn bursts into movement, grabbing Connor by the shoulders and dragging him toward her work table, an ‘empty’ Traci model staring lifelessly at the ceiling. “Help me!”

Hank’s taking one of Connor’s limp and heavy arms in his hand before he realizes, helping her to lift him onto an adjacent table. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“It, uh, he’ll die. Kind of.” Evelyn grunts, movements almost frantic but her hands remaining steady. “And who knows what kind of mutation the trauma will cause in an already deviant android.” 

Sharp medial shears slide effortlessly through Connor’s shirt.

“The standard is to wipe the memory completely after a shutdown, run antivirus and debugging software before even thinking about restarting them.” Hank helps her turn Connor over, making sure to lay him gently on his stomach. Her exacto-knife makes a smooth cut through the synthetic flesh covering the back of his neck. “But, fuck, he hasn’t shut down yet. There’s still a chance to save his code before it mutates.” 

Hank swallows, keeping his gag reflex in check. Thirium smells sharp and acidic when this much of it makes contact with air. “Why are you doing this? We already called it in, you know that.” Connor’s LED had cycled yellow the moment she lunged for the gun. 

She snorts, deft hands removing the hard plastic panel and inserting a metal speculum into Connor’s neck, cranking it hard enough to make Hank wince as he tightens his grip. Connor’s body shakes limply, twitching with every wire Evelyn sorts through. “They were all shut down when I found them, nothing but incoherent code. I don’t care if if they call me a back alley surgeon or a trafficker, but fuck if they’re gonna call me a murderer. I’m doing what I have to, same as anyone else.”

“You didn’t have to break those people down. That was a choice you made.” Hank spits on the dirty basement floor in an effort to get the taste out of his mouth. 

Evelyn half turns to grab a cable, slotting it into Connor’s neck with blue-stained hands and running it over to the lifeless Traci on the next table. “Do you have any idea-” she starts and hiccups, pressing her lips together so hard white bleeds through her dark skin. “Half of these deviants don’t even know what they’ve done to their code, or what self-editing can do. At least three out of every hundred irreparably damage themselves. With Cyberlife gone they’re going to need someone who understands the mutations in their code!” 

Her computer shows the upload at 43%

Connor’s LED is a dull, flickering red. 

“Lady, I scraped three suicides off the asphalt last week. Unless you’re gonna start on free healthcare, don’t fuckin’ talk to me about irreparable damage. You chopped up living beings and used them for parts.” 

The Traci model twitches, eyes fluttering.

“Come on, come on, you fucking-” 

Darting over to the Traci-model, Evelyn attaches two more wires to a laptop that looks like it was once state of the art, bringing up a program more numbers and symbols than words. 

“What, what’s going on?” Hank snaps, he wants to loom and pace but Connor is still thrashing weakly, splashing Hank with the thirium pooling beneath him on the metal table.

“RK models have specialized features and code that the WR series isn’t equipped for. I’m going to have to, uh, store the code or the transfer isn’t going to work.” 

Hank snarls, as sirens begin to get louder in the distance. 

73%

“Hank…” Connor’s words echo, coming from both models at once, normal soothing tenor and softer contra-alto. “I’m...dizzy.” 

Her...his, LED spins red-yellow-red-red-red. 

Cops love making short-hand. Morbid jokes that pepper their day-to-day and help them to get through anything from a hostage negotiation to serial murders. 

REM is the new term for a shutdown android. 

Because when their thirium is gone, their processors stop or their CPU goes offline, they don’t go limp. 

Instead their limbs lock in place, going stiff and still, like a body in rigor mortis. R-M. 

“Connor?” Hank’s eyes dart from the stiff body of the android under his hand to the twitching one on the table beside him.

Evelyn moans quietly, her fingers still flying over the keys. 

Brakes squeal somewhere above them. 

“Detroit Police! Put your hands up!” 

“Connor!” 

The Traci-unit moves with startling speed, her wires pulled taut as she grabs first the handcuffs from Hank’s belt and then Evelyn’s unmoving form. “Evelyn Monk you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.” 

“Connor? Holy fuck. Connor, just fucking say it’s you.” 

“I’m alright, Lieutenant, I believe the transfer was wholly successful. But now, legally, I do have to start over.” 

It’s more than jarring, hearing Connor’s deadpan snark come through the sultry voice of a Traci. 

Fuck. Everything. 

Someone is going to have to contact Jericho about this. 

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Title sampled from Hedwig and the Angry Inch's 'Sugar Daddy,' 
> 
> Much love and thanks to @scarecrowfan on tumblr for the assist!
> 
> Come join me in robot fucker hell https://twitter.com/bejeweleddicks


End file.
